A Crustymas Carol
by fleeting-phantasm
Summary: A freak blizzard encourages Toriel and Frisk to extend their Gyftmas Eve visit at the skeleton abode, which encourages Papyrus to break out one of his favorite games! "Houses and Humans" is the Underground's take on a certain tabletop fantasy RPG. ...But what the heck does fantasy even look like in a realm where magic and monsters are are part of everyday life?
1. Oh the Weather Outside is Frightful

_(Originally published 1/15/18 on AO3 as a gift for Tumblr user "thefloatingstone" during the 2017 Undertale Secret Santa exchange.)_

 **Oh, the Weather Outside is Frightful, but I am Contractually Obligated to Say the MTT-Brand Burning Log Show™ (Now in HD) is So Delightful**

When it came to puzzles and games, Papyrus was what most would call an enthusiast but what Papyrus himself would call a connoisseur. The difference, according to an argument he had conjured up in the shower one evening, was based on how each group perceived the "bigger picture." An enthusiast was more concerned with the moment at-hand: in the case of fellow puzzle lovers, when sharing their beloved trade with others they would do things mostly by the books to ensure participants had a grand old time, and then that would be the end of it—the classic, one-off way of spreading cheer through japes and good ol' brain trickery.

For a connoisseur, however, it was less about the present action and more about the layers of consideration and intent behind it. Someone who was a connoisseur would go above and beyond in places where others would lean towards simplicity, towards the usual. Connoisseurs would seek out potential locations for puzzles that did not even exist yet, analyzing these locations in terms of space, or acoustics, or what-else-have-you. They would include music or other ambience if they felt it might jazz their puzzles up a bit. They might even alter a classic puzzle formula if it meant catching their participants in an amusing surprise. It was by thinking about the bigger picture—the before, the during, and the after—and considering how it might affect those around him that Papyrus was able to turn what would have been moments of fun into truly memorable experiences. And if he went to such lengths for total strangers, one could be sure he did so doubly—no, quadruply—if good friends were involved.

So it was that when a sudden blizzard prompted Toriel and Frisk to extend their Gyftmas Eve visit by way of a board game or two, Papyrus' connoisseur spirit kicked into maximum overdrive. A flurry of organized chaos in a tatty holiday sweater, he dimmed every light he could find, made sure everyone was comfy on the couch with mugs of hot cocoa, and tuned the living room TV to the Underground's finest 24-hour video feed of a fireplace. Then, he tripped up to his room to find the absolute perfect game for such a special occasion. It wasn't every day the queen of all monsters dropped in. And accompanied by the Underground's only human, too? No expense could be spared!

"I think you're really going to enjoy this one," Papyrus chirped upon his return. "It's the best game for dreary weather!" Between his arms he juggled an array of folders, papers, scribbly maps, and colorful multi-sided dice, all of which he promptly plopped onto the coffee table. He then dragged a chair over from the kitchen and set up shop opposite his friends on the couch, making a grand show of organizing every bit and bauble into what must have been very particular groups. Frisk and Toriel watched the proceedings with rapt interest.

"I do not think I have ever seen a board game quite like this," Toriel said. "Should it not have a, um, board?"

"Indeed it does. But it's all up here!" Papyrus winked and tapped the side of his skull. The last piece of his meticulous assembly was an oversized trifold, which he propped up in front of him. On its cover was a grainy photo of businesspeople shaking hands and grinning at the camera. A faded "SpaGhetty Images" watermark was barely discernable above the uncanny gathering. With everything finally in its place, Papyrus nodded proudly to himself and cleared his throat more than was absolutely necessary. "Honored guests—and dear brother who needs to get his feet off the table—"

"—Whoops, sorry, bro."

"—I present to you …" He paused for dramatic effect and gestured out over the menagerie between them. "Houses and Humans: the Underground's premier fantasy game! I thought with Frisk in attendance this year we should play something a little human-accessible; the only sort of magic you need for this game is the magic of imagination!"

"Imagination," Sans liltingly followed up, earning a glare from his taller brother. "No, but really, this game's a hoot," he said. "Especially when Paps is the narrator."

Papyrus' glare slid back into a grin as he puffed up at the compliment. "What can I say? 'Tis a natural role for one of my … vocabularic intake." He then side-eyed his brother, who had not so subtly masked a secondary chuckle within his "Sleepy Dude" mug of hot cocoa. "Really, though, anyone who actually tries can make it interesting. At least with me running the show, your characters won't spend the entire quest stuffing their faces until they barf."

"You say that like your guy didn't win some mad cash from it."

"Yes, well, the 'Heinz 50 Challenge' isn't exactly a resume booster, now is it, Sans?"

"So, it sounds like this game involves some sort of acting?" Toriel had leaned over to ask Frisk. They shrugged.

"If it's like the one I'm thinking of," Frisk said, "you make up your own character, and then you play along with the narrator's story."

"Ah, so you are familiar with it!" Papyrus broke free from his heated discussion regarding the less than favorable status of an imaginary economy to excitedly shuffle behind his stock photo wall of storytelling secrecy. "Excellent! That will make things a little easier." He produced three sheets of paper and set one face-down in front of each player. "Because character creation can take a while—and seem intimidating to first-time players, what with all the rules and numbers and stuff—I am granting you use of some of the fine folks I've prepared ahead of time. Everything you need to know about them, from their personalities to what they're carrying, is on the papers I have set before you—no peeksies!" He swatted Sans' straying had away from revealing his character sheet before whichever obscure time Papyrus had deemed most appropriate. "You will all have different strengths and weaknesses, so teamwork will be key! Or, as I am absolutely certain they say on the Surface: synergy!" He looked to the only human in the gathering, a seeking of approval if ever there was one. "Now, shall we get on with the introductions? Let us see who our adventurers three shall be! Frisk, would you like to start?"

They took a quick swig of their cocoa, wiped their mouth on their sleeve much to Toriel's chagrin, and then turned their paper over. "Um … there's no name on here, but it says I'm an 'Average Student'. I wear an average school uniform and carry an average-sized backpack with my student ID, some school supplies, and ... one jawbreaker?"

Papyrus nodded sagely. "You know, it was a tough choice between Average, Troubled, or Gifted. I picked Average because it's the most well-rounded among the three types of Student. It has a very …" he waved his hand about in a vague motion, "main character-y feel. Based on your class, your greatest strength is your ability to not stand out from the crowd. I had trouble thinking up a name that was just average and not totally cool, though, so I left that part blank. Feel free to come up with one of your own!"

Frisk stared at their paper for a few moments, no doubt digesting the wealth of information Papyrus had so blessed them with. "I guess I'll just be Frisk, then," they eventually concluded. "It's easy to remember."

"Going with your true name, eh? An interesting tactic!"

Toriel giggled. "Frisk, the Average Student? Well, I would dare say you are more than Average in my classes." She beamed as she took their cheek in two claws and gave it a loving pinch. "Papyrus, Sans, guess who passed all of their winter exams this year!"

"Hey, good job, kiddo."

Frisk fought valiantly, but fruitlessly, against the onslaught of parental affection and could only mumble an embarrassed "Oh my god, mom," until Papyrus eventually took mercy on them.

"Ms. Toriel," he politely prompted. "Would you be so kind as to introduce your character? Frisk cannot save the world on their own, after all."

"Oh, is it my turn?" Relinquishing Frisk's cheek, she placed her reading glasses atop her snout and considered her character sheet. "Let me see. This is exciting! Hello, everyone. It is wonderful to meet you. My name is," she squinted, "Undyne!"

An unholy squawk came from the other side of the table. Sans practically fell of the couch with laughter. "Wait, you actually made an Undyne, bro?"

"I-it's a placeholder!" Alas, not even the power of cheesy stock photography could hide the humiliation in Papyrus' voice. He rifled frantically through his folder of character sheets. "Alright, fine. Stop laughing! I thought if I made Undyne her own character, and made her totally awesome, she'd stop saying this game is for nerds."

Sans swiped his hand against a laugh-stained eye socket. "Bro, you know she only says that because you're not the right nerd."

"What about me isn't right? And what about me is a nerd?! Anyway, I'm sorry for the mix-up, Ms. Toriel. Let me find the character I was supposed to give you."

But Toriel wouldn't hear of it. "Do not worry yourself, dear. It is no trouble at all. If you will allow me, I would be honored to play Undyne." She planted her paws to her hips, jutted her chin out, and struck the most confident pose she could muster while sitting down. "Just leave it to me, Papyrus! I will—oh, what is something she usually says—kick its butt!" When even that wasn't enough to coax Papyrus out from behind his shield of shame, Frisk then added,

"Think of it like a practice run. If somebody who's not Undyne can play the part, then you know it's perfect!"

"And I am certain she will play," said Toriel. "Especially when learns how much effort you put in to this."

Papyrus paused in his search to peer up over his trifold. "Well, I guess that's true," he mumbled. "Okay … Could you tell us about yourself, then, Ms. …um … Undyne?"

"I teach mathematics in the morning and history after lunch."

"He means your character," whispered Frisk.

"Oops! According to this, I am a … 'Personal Trainer'." Frisk gave Papyrus an impressed nod. Papyrus straightened further. "I might seem scary at first, but I am actually very kind. I use my incredible strength only for the sake of others, helping them become the people they have always wanted to be. My, this is wonderful, Papyrus!"

"Yeah, spot on, bro."

Papyrus chuckled and rubbed the back of his skull. "Well, I don't know about that. Okay, yes I do. I made it, after all. Nyeh heh heh!" His wellspring of confidence bubbling once more, he set his folder of character sheets aside. "Now, we have quite the ragtag band so far—a combination of sneakiness and strengthy-ness! But our party of adventurers is still missing one key element. Sans, dear brother, will you now grace us with your character's presence?"

Sans picked his paper off the table and gave it quick once-over. "Huh, this one's new."

"The latest and greatest! Go on."

"But what about my dashing rogue from last time?"

"He's still trapped in limbo, remember?"

"That carries over to this?"

"Of course it does." Papyrus sighed. "Everyone knows time, space, and the very fabric of reality are warped in the DMV. If you doubt me, check the guidebook. And if you doubt that, ask Frisk."

Both brothers immediately looked to Frisk.

"Uh, yeah. Sure," said Frisk.

"See? Straight from a human. We'll need to make a separate campaign if we want to get your guy out."

"Alright," said Sans. "But we gotta rescue him sometime. He's too soft for that place." He sank back into the couch and considered his character sheet anew—and for the same, all-too brief amount of time. "Okay, no, this guy might actually be even cooler."

"Great," Papyrus hissed. "Now introduce him."

"'Sup. The name's Hotdoggins."

It was then that Frisk realized they had chosen the wrong time to take another sip of hot cocoa. Toriel had a handkerchief ready to intercept.

"That was the worst introduction ever," Papyrus griped once the sound of a laughing, sputtering child had calmed down. "Let me do it." He nabbed the character sheet from his brother, who handed it off with a chuckle and a "Roger". "Ahem! Hotdoggins, as his name might suggest, is part of a special class of human released in the latest H&H expansion—a 'Fast Food Mascot'. Because their culinary-inspired armor doesn't offer much in the way of movement or protection, Fast Food Mascots must rely entirely on their wits and their humor. They say laughter is the best medicine; Well, this class takes that literally. Their jokes can buff their friends or hinder their enemies. Outside the field of battle, Mascots live to entertain and make their living by enticing patrons into visiting their lords' fine eateries." He nodded towards his brother. "It is a noble calling for the comically—and gastronomically—inclined."

"I certainly try," Sans laughed.

"Ah, ah. But there's more, dear brother. I'll give you the condensed version, but make sure you read the fine print." Papyrus' smile slinked into a mischievous smirk. "To put it simply, Hotdoggins' great-great-great-great-great … great-grandfather was involved in a negative customer interaction which placed a terrible curse on his bloodline. Now, every time Hotdoggins makes a joke or pun, his body hurts."

Sans gave a low whistle. "Geez, sounds a like a real pai— ow!" He lurched forward to massage the part of his leg his brother had soundly kicked.

"Alas for Hotdoggins!" Papyrus threw his head back and cried. "For the thing he loves most in life to cause him such pain! What sorrow! What sacrifice! Oh, will his suffering ever end?"

The power of a thousand mothers within Toriel had been about to protest this behavior en masse when Sans just laughed and shook his head. "Don't worry. This is nothing," he whispered. "At least today's 'fine print' doesn't involve his cooking."

"Now, then," said Papyrus. "I do believe we are all good and acquainted. Remember, each of you has something unique to offer, so you will need to work as a team if you hope to survive my special Gyftmas story! Are we ready to begin?" At a sign of approval from all three players, Papyrus scooted forward in his chair. Backlit by the synthetic, and frighteningly pink, televised fireplace, he loomed over his trifold and added an extra bit of vibrato to his special narratorial voice. "Prepare yourselves, brave adventurers, for you are about to enter a world unlike any other. It is a world full of mystery and wonder; a world where you need experience to get a job, but need a job to get experience."

"Oh my," gasped Toriel.

"Onward, my friends: to the Surface!"


	2. In Which a Party is Formed

**Please note:** In chapters 2-4, I experimented with having the characters interrupt Papyrus-as-narrator in real time. On AO3, these interruptions were indented and also rendered in the characters' respective fonts. Unfortunately, FanFiction's text editor is pretty strict in terms of formatting, so I'm forced to separate these sections with rule lines and keep them kinda basic font-wise. In case my characterization isn't up to snuff and you have trouble figuring out who is who based solely on dialogue, please refer to the following guide:

Sans: ***bold, all lowercase**

Papyrus: **BOLD, ALL UPPERCASE**

Frisk: *Regular sentence case.

Toriel: _*Italicized sentence case._

* * *

 **In Which a Party is Formed**

Now, this may come as a surprise to all but maybe one of you, but did you know the Surface has its own version of Gyftmas? That's right! They call it, "Crustymas". Yes, yes, it's blatant copyright infringement at its finest, but let's look beyond that for a moment. Like the not bootleg version of it, Crustymas is a time of celebration. The humans throw parties, exchange gifts, and drink fizzy drinks until they say things that will keep them awake for at least ten years.

This Crustymas, however, it is as though a dark cloud has settled upon the Surface. Where once there was laughter and merriment, there is now sorrow, anger, and frustration. It is as if all holiday joy has vanished from the peoples' hearts. It can mean only one thing:

The Anti-Claus has come to town!

* * *

 ***pft, really?**

 **SHUT IT, SANS. YOU'RE RUINING THE DRAMATIC REVEAL!**

* * *

Anyway, as I was saying, the Anti-Claus! In the span of a single night, this mysterious miser of misery swooped down to the Surface and whisked away every last piece of Crustymas candy. But his heinous-ness didn't stop there, for he then replaced it all with … sugar-free alternatives. Now, having only excuses with which to fill their party bowls and fireplace socks, it is only a matter of time before every human on the Surface succumbs to the Anti-Claus' artificially sweetened brand of cheer—for good!

Such is the situation our adventurers find themselves in. They are three among many brave warriors who have come to the village the Anti-Claus has established as his base of operations, hoping to steal back their world's beloved candy from within the depths of his foul lair.

First, we have Average Student Frisk. This village is their hometown. They know every nook and cranny like the back of their weird, fleshy hand. Before the Anti-Claus showed up, Frisk's mom gave them a piece of early Crustymas candy—one of those painfully-named jawbreaker things—to much on while at school. But Frisk sort of forgot about it because they had a bunch of tests they needed to get least a "B" on, and of course they all happened on one day, and then things got really crazy for a while…. Anyway, as a result, Frisk is now in possession of the last true piece of Crustymas candy. With that, as well as a burning sense of determination coursing through their Average body, they have taken it upon themselves to rout the Anti-Claus and restore order once and for all! But they know they cannot do it alone, for they are very, very Average. They take to the streets, looking for others to recruit for their noble, Average cause.

Then, we have Undyne.

…

…Um…..

…

* * *

 _*Is something the matter, dear?_

 **I … ACTUALLY MAYBE DON'T TOTALLY KNOW HOW UNDYNE FITS IN TO THE STORY, YET. IN MY ORIGINAL VERSION, MS. MATHEMAGIC THE SCHOOLMARM WAS GOING TO ACCOMPANY THE AVERAGE STUDENT BECAUSE SHE WAS CONCERNED FOR THEIR SAFETY, BUT…**

 _*Oh, no. Did I ruin it by using a different character?_

 **O-OF COURSE NOT, MS. TORIEL! THIS IS JUST … NYEH, IT IS A CATASTROPHIC FAILURE ON MY PART AS NARRATOR! I AM THE WEAVER OF THE THREADS OF FATE; I SHOULD BE ABLE TO REACT TO CHANGES LIKE THIS ON THE FLY! MAYBE I SHOULD START PAYING ATTENTION TO SANS' IMPROV. SESSIONS FROM NOW ON …**

 ***whoa let's not get crazy here, bro.**

*Don't worry, Papyrus. You just have to think like Undyne.

 _*Yes, a wonderful idea, Frisk! And since I am acting as Undyne, I must do so, as well. How about we figure it out together, Papyrus? We already know her job, and especially her personality. So, given this information, how might the game's version of Undyne react to this … Andy-Claus situation?_

 **WELL, I GUESS SHE WOULD….**

* * *

…

….

Oh, poor, poor, Undyne! One would think a Personal Trainer would be totally geeked about all the junk food in the world disappearing, but not if it makes all of her clients disappear, too! Undyne's prized training grounds, once a haven of sweat and terrible music, sit quietly and smell almost pleasantly. Her patrons have all gone; their desire for party treats has overpowered their desire for self-betterment. What horrible times! Now, Undyne has traveled to this town from her distant homeland … seeking justice!

Even Fast Food Mascot Hotdoggins isn't exempt from this candy-based crisis. Apparently, stress eating isn't in style this season, so attendance at his lord's tavern is at a big fat zero. His lord has since ordered him to travel the far reaches of the Surface and bring back some business! His latest stop—be it by fortune or destiny—is the village of the Anti-Claus.

The town square is where our story begins. It is a mix of common causes and personal agendas that have driven our adventurers to this location, but 'tis mere chance by which they meet! Well, that and Hotdoggins is really freaking loud. Now, he stands at the most populated corner he can find, hawking his greasy wares.

"Yo, drop on in! Best grub in the Tri-City area," he shouts. "Try our seasonal deep-fry, two for twenty if you use the attached Crustymas coupon!" But his pleading falls on deaf ears. And though the parchments he waves about are writ with the best of deals, no worthy hands reach out to accept them.

* * *

 ***i do a cartwheel.**

 **YOU WHAT.**

 ***my sales pitch needs an attention grabber.**

 **BUT YOUR ARMOR PUTS YOUR DEXTERITY-NESS IN THE NEGATIVES!**

 ***okay i do two cartwheels. one extra to cancel it out.**

 **OH MY GOD THAT'S NOT HOW IT … FINE. BUT YOUR OBVIOUS FAILURE IS NOT FOR ME TO DECIDE. LET'S SEE WHAT THE DICE SAY.**

* * *

Suddenly possessed by a strange impulse to do something that is most certainly impossible given his load-out and stat spread, Hotdoggins pockets his parchments and readies himself for some true marketing gymnastics! He gets a waddling start, holds his arms out in front of him, leaps… Oh! Look at that. His unwieldy armor throws him off balance. It is much less the cartwheel he had hoped for and more an express delivery of his face to the cold, hard ground. And yet, he is undaunted. He takes a few minutes to wobble his way back up and then makes a second attempt!

…. Unfortunately, the only gold medal Hotdoggins will receive this day is one for unfounded confidence. His second go is even more disastrous than his first. With his costume providing some extra torque, he bowls right into a group of passers-by—including one Ms. Undyne.

"He does? Is that my cue? I am not sure I am ready yet." Undyne seems … confused. But anyone would be, when suddenly faced with a cottony mound of fake food barreling into them! "Okay. Let's see … Sir, are you alr- Wait, no, I mean … HEY! WATCH WHERE YOU'RE GOING, UH, BUB!"

Even when faced with such … vocal encouragement, Hotdoggins is unable to right himself thanks to his most cumbersome of clothing. "Sorry 'bout that, pal," he says. "Looks like I'm on a roll toda-" He curls in on himself as a sudden jab gets him squarely in his … left knee.

* * *

 ***bro, that was my bad knee.**

 ***AND THAT WAS MY GOOD FOOT!**

* * *

But despite Hotdoggins' immense amount of suffering, his joke goes off without a hitch. It soothes Undyne's frustration. She starts to laugh. "Hey, that's a good one!" She kneels down to lend a hand to the struggling Mascot. "But, you know, you should really stretch before you try doing a cartwheel—especially wearing that. I am not surprised your leg hurts."

"Eh, this is just the ol' family curse acting up again."

Undyne shook her head. "That is absolute nonsense. If you convince yourself you are cursed, you will never make any progress. I have seen it time and time again." She pulls Hotdoggins along by the arm. "Come on. Let us find a place to sit so you can rest that leg."

* * *

Undyne and Hotdoggins take a breather at a nearby bench, where they exchange introductions.

"So, you're after the Anti-Claus, Undyne?"

A shadow passes over the Personal Trainer's face at her new friend's query. "At first, I thought he was just health-conscious, if a little misguided. But by stealing everyone's candy he took Gyft- er, Crustymas joy away from countless people—and children! I cannot stand for that. I have to kick his butt."

"I'd say 'get in line,'" laughs Hotdoggins, "but from what I hear that line's getting shorter by the day. People are giving up left and right. Guess this guy's really powerful, or something."

"Well, I never give up, so he is about to meet his match." Undyne's confidence then turns to a sigh. "If can find him, that is. Do you know where he might be? I have tried asking around, but all of the townsfolk seem so … out of sorts."

Hotdoggins shakes his head and pats the stack of fliers stuffed in his costume. "Fraid I'm not from around here, either. Though I hope someone takes care of the guy soon, because I'm not getting paid overtime for this."

"I can help." A voice pipes up from directly in front of them. It is Frisk, standing there looking all Average-like. "I know where the Anti-Claus is," they say.

Undyne and Hotdoggins exchange looks. "Uh, did you notice the kid?"

"No, not at all. Have you been here this whole time, child?"

"Pretty much. I've been with you since that Mascot bowled a strike on a bunch of innocent people."

"Wow, kiddo. That's … pretty impressive, actually."

Frisk shrugs. "It's no big deal. It's what I do. Anyway, I can take you where the Anti-Claus is. I see his place on my way back from school all the time."

"That would be perfect!" Undyne makes as if to stand, but Hotdoggins stops her.

"Hang on. Something's weird, here. What's the catch, kid?" Hotdoggins' trade has put him in front of many a customer over the years. Has his surprising amount of business-savvyness picked up on something…unsavvy?

* * *

 _* Sans? I hope you do not mind me saying this, but Frisk is supposed to join our group. I do not think they would have a catch._

 *** yeah, we know that. but our characters don't.**

 **I'M AFRAID SANS IS CORRECT. IT'S NOTHING AGAINST FRISK, BUT IN THE CONTEXT OF THE STORY HOTDOGGINS AND UNDYNE DON'T HAVE A REASON TO TRUST THEM YET. FOR ALL THEY KNOW, THIS AVERAGE STUDENT COULD BE AN ABOVE-AVERAGE ANTI-CLAUS AGENT!**

 *** they did kinda show up out of the blue and offer to help.**

 _* I see. I apologize, Frisk. It seems you will need to earn our trust._

* That's okay! Don't worry. I have an idea.

* * *

"Well this is my hometown," Frisk explains "Because of what the Anti-Claus did, everyone I know is really depressed. My friends stay in their houses all day. My parents have been searching for real candy for weeks, now. I'm looking for someone who can get me inside the Anti-Claus' lair so I can help bring things back to normal. I might be kind of average, but there's gotta be something I can do."

"But you are just a child," asserts Undyne. "If this Anti-Claus is as dangerous as he sounds, I cannot in good faith allow you to go anywhere near him."

Frisk nods in understanding. "That's what everyone else said, too." Then, they reach in to their backpack and hold something out to the cautious adventurers: It is their treasured jawbreaker. Though now kind of dusty, its candy coating still shines in the evening light. "Here. This is the last true piece of candy on the Surface. It was a gift from my mom, but you can have it if you promise to help me get the rest." They look down at the ground. "It's the only thing I have now."

"That's nice and all, kid, but what are we gonna do with a single piece of can-?" Undyne shuts Hotdoggins up with a sharp glare.

"Please, keep your beloved candy, child. You may come with us if you would like."

Frisk brightens. Had they not been so Average, they might have even sparkled. "Really?"

"But only if you promise to stay close to my side the entire time. Goodness knows what is inside that place."

Frisk excitedly pockets their candy. "Yes! I will! Thank you, Ms… um…!"

"Undyne. And my friend here is Hotdoggins."

"It's nice to meet you both. I'm Frisk."

Hotdoggins gives a half-hearted wave. "Well, glad that all worked out. Good luck, you two. Somehow, I know you're gonna need it."

"Wait, you do not plan to join us, Hotdoggins?"

"Lady, do I look like I'd be good in a fight? I'd just drag you down."

Undyne pursed her lips and jammed her fists to her sides. "There's that negativity again! I have never seen such a sour Mascot." She jumps to her feet and pulls a reluctant Hotdoggins up along with. "You are coming with, whether you like it or not. Getting out of your comfort zone will be good for you!" She grins. "Besides, don't you think it will be easier to negotiate a raise if you tell your boss you helped save Crustymas?"

Hotdoggins looks to Frisk. "You heard her. Lead the way, kiddo."


	3. The Assault on the Anti-Claus' Keep

**The Assault on the Anti-Claus' Keep**

Perhaps the strangest aspect of the Anti-Claus' preferred place of residence is how … ordinary it looks. It is about the size of your typical general store and stands at a meager one story tall. The only entrance to speak of is a pair of glass doors at the front. The interior is lit—someone is home—but the curtains have been drawn, leaving our adventurers to guess as to what sort of horrors lurk within.

* * *

 _* This is a cute drawing you made, Papyrus._

 **UM, I WAS KIND OF GOING FOR SCARY…**

 *** more like square-y.**

 *** WELL, WHAT DO YOU EXPECT? BE GLAD I AM GIVING YOU A MAP AT ALL!**

* * *

The structure itself is built at the far end of a large open space, within which sit several carriages. Empty, they have been restrained inside ritualistic markings drawn on the blackened ground. Tall torches placed at intervals in this space glare down at our adventurers as they approach.

"Well, whaddya know," Hotdoggins remarks. "This definitely looks like where an Anti-Claus would be. Is there anything you can tell us about this place, Frisk?"

"Sorry, I've never actually seen the inside." A shadow crosses their face. "But I've seen what happens after people come out."

Undyne puts a reassuring paw on their shoulder. "Don't worry. We will put an end to this once and for all."

"Doubt they'll let us walk right in, though," says Hotdoggins. "Maybe we can use one of these?" He tries to enter one of the carriages but discovers it is locked. (Not that he would have been able to fit, anyway.) "Welp, never mind. Front door it is."

"That is my kind of plan," says Undyne. She starts toward the entrance when Hotdoggins stops her.

"Hang on, I think we need a little boost." He ponders for a moment, wracking his brain for perfection in humor. "Okay, what do you call fake spaghetti? ….An im-pasta!"

* * *

 **SNRK**

 *** like that one bro?**

 **A-ABSOLUTELY NOT!**

* * *

Hotdoggins' joke is successful! Unless you count _the sudden jabs in both of his feet_.

Now, with their courage freshly fortified, our adventurers charge the entranceway. If anyone is directly inside, they will surely be surprised! But—gadzooks!—the doors open on their own! An enchantment most foul? Or perhaps a fell welcome to the foolhardy? Either way, our adventurers quickly proceed.

They need only take one step inside to understand what kind of place this is—evil. The castle's lobby is tiny, and its air thick with the aroma of something that smells sort of like fruit but also sort of like not. Tapestries line the walls, each one depicting a noble human smiling unsettlingly. Are they are past lords of this manor? Or are they yet more guises assumed by the Anti-Claus? At the back of the room is the door leading to the rest of the lair. Nearby, chairs are arranged in rows before a wooden altar, suggesting this space is meant for some form of congregation.

A shadow moves behind the altar.

"Stay behind me, Frisk," says Undyne. Hotdoggins stays behind her, too—because of course he would. The courageous Undyne approaches the altar to investigate.

Seated behind the rich wooden structure is another human. She is tall, slender, with flowing hair and a pointed face covered in a delicate layer of sparkly war paint. She would appear, by human standards, to be of the attractive sort. The human is looking through a colorful picture tome, which she closes upon noticing Undyne.

"Hello," she says with a bright smile. "Do you have an appointment?" But while her expression is vibrant, her voice is quiet, distant, and holds no emotion.

"I do not understand." Undyne says. The human asks again.

"I said, 'Do you have an appointment?"

* * *

 _*Oh, dear. What should I do?_

 ***well, the place itself already let us in. maybe play along? if anybody can take us to the head honcho, it's probably this lady.**

* * *

"Yes," says Undyne. "I do have an appointment" The human opens a second tome, this one massive and filled with nothing but lines covered in a strange script.

"Name?" she asks.

"Undyne."

The human taps a claw-like fingernail on the page. "I don't see an 'Undyne' under today. Did you perhaps schedule for next week?"

"Oh, that sounds like something I would do." The human turns to another page and carefully scans it over. Moments pass. She says nothing. Then, she slowly closes her tome and, still smiling, rises from her seat. "You don't have an appointment, do you?" Undyne instantly goes on the defensive.

"Okay, so what if I do not?" she challenges, tossing a quick glance back to make sure Frisk is thoroughly shielded behind her. The human laughs. Energy stars to build up around her. Tomes, quills, parchments, and other lair necessities of the administrative sort lift from their places and surround our adventurers. It is as though the room itself has come alive! Then, the human leaps atop her altar, screaming,

"We don't talk walk-ins!"

Our adventurers have just made the acquaintance of … the Receptionist! A thrall of the Anti-Claus, it is she who guards the entrance to his lair; she who records the names of all his victims—past and future! And it is she who our adventurers must defeat if they have any hope of retrieving humanity's precious sugary sweets!

Our trio bunches together as the Receptionist's evil utensils swell around them, cutting off their escape.

"Punch her!" Hotdoggins yells to Undyne.

"I will not hurt an innocent person!"

"You call this innocent?!"

"Well, no, but there must be another way!"

"Um, excuse me?" Frisk peeks out from behind Undyne. Undyne moves to protect them, but they persist, stepping out in full view of the Receptionist. "Excuse me! I'd like to make an appointment, please."

Upon noticing the Average Student, a curious look passes the Receptionist's still smiling face. "Wait, that uniform … Surface High?"

"Class of 20XX!" Frisk proclaims.

"Class of 19XX!" the Receptionist mirrors. Her evil utensils cease their swirling rage and clatter to the floor. Slowly, she climbs down from her altar. "You need to set up an appointment? Let me see if I have any openings. You are on Crustymas break right now, right?"

Frisk looks to their companions and whispers, "Let me handle this." Undyne appears unconvinced, but she steps back and allows Frisk to approach the Receptionist's altar. "We are, but I have some family stuff going on this week. Next week might work, though."

It's a good thing they took that drama class a while back. Frisk milks their distraction for all it's worth, picking days and times and then "remembering" complicated reasons as to why they won't work. While they keep the Receptionist busy, they gesture for Undyne and Hotdoggins to continue on. The two sneak their way across the lobby and slip through the back door. Undyne maintains a constant watchful eye on Frisk.

"That will be perfect," Frisk says to the Receptionist once their friends are in the clear. "Thank you. I'm sorry for all the trouble. Classes are just little crazy right now."

The Receptionist laughs. It sounds almost genuine. "Oh, I remember those days."

They bid her a fond farewell and turn towards the entrance, acting as though they are going to leave. The moment the Receptionist flips her picture tome open once more, they make a mad dash for the back where Undyne waits in the doorway. The Receptionist is caught off-guard, but not for long. Oh, what a look of betrayal she shows! She gives chase, blind with rage! As Frisk draws near, Undyne reaches out to pull them through and slams the door shut behind them. It is just in the nick of time! The Receptionist and a flurry of her razor sharp memos smack into the old wood. She wraps her manicured talons around the handle, trying desperately to force it open. It takes every ounce of Undyne's strength to hold the door shut against the relentless assault.

A few tense moments pass. Eventually, the other side grows silent and still.

"Do you think she left?" asks Undyne. Hotdoggins huffs.

"It sounded like she broke a nail."

Frisk takes a ruler from their backpack and wedges it between the door and wall as a makeshift bar. It is unlikely the instrument will hold for long. Still, it will buy them some time should their punctual adversary try for round two. Our adventurers now breathe a collective sigh of relief. They cannot rest for long, however, for they now stand inside the heart of the Anti-Claus' lair.

* * *

Stretching before Frisk, Hotdoggins, and Undyne is but a single hallway. Doors line the left and right sides, yet it is the one at the very end of the hall that catches their attention. It is larger than the others, and emblazoned upon the frosted window at its top is a short passage written in the same type of script found in the Receptionist's grand tome. "DDS," it reads.

Steadily, our adventurers proceed. Frisk chances a glance into one of the side rooms. The things they see could shake even the hardiest of warrior to their very core! At the center of the room is a single chair in a reclining position. It would appear almost comfortable, had it not been for the twisted, pointy, jagged, razor-sharp instruments of pain and misery surrounding it! Why, these aren't rooms at all, but torture chambers! How many poor souls have been strapped to these chairs and subjected to the Anti-Claus' terrible whims? Even now, the ghosts of their screams echo down the hallway.

"We will stop him," Undyne says, pulling Frisk away from the horrid sight. "We must."

At last, our adventurers have arrived at their destination. Beyond this final door is the Anti-Claus' throne room. The three look at each other, steel themselves, and press forward.

They are faced with mountains of candy. Seriously. There are dozens of them, all stretching to the ceiling and beyond! The room is impossibly tall for the structure that contains it. The Anti-Claus' negative influence has warped the reality in this space, just as it has the joy in peoples' hearts. And there, seated on a cushioned throne atop the tallest stack of candy, is none other the Anti-Claus himself.

Just like the receptionist, he would be considered by humans' questionable standards to be attractive. Perfect hair. Perfect teeth. Ah, but the moniker by which he is called—"Anti-Claus—is but a mask hiding the ugly truth, for this man is a member of the meanest, nastiest, most slimy of all human classes…

A DENTIST!


	4. The Spirit of Crustymas

**The Spirit of Crustymas**

* * *

 **BUM BUM BUMMMM!**

 *** … bro, listen, i dunno how many times i gotta say it, but you really need to get over this.**

 **WHAT EVER ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT, SANS? HERE. EVEN MY EXPERT NARRATORIAL SKILLS CAN BARELY SCRATCH THE SURFACE OF HOW AWFUL THIS DENTIST IS, SO I DREW HIM! CHECK IT OUT.**

 *** it was just a movie. a cheesy, low budget, b-grade flick that used claymation for the nasty bits. the final fight? all green screen.**

 **AH, YOU MISUNDERSTAND, DEAR BROTHER. THIS HAS ABSOLUTELY NOTHING TO DO WITH SOME DEEP-SEATED PERSONAL TRAUMA YOU PRETEND I HAVE HAD SINCE CHILDHOOD.**

*I like your picture, Papyrus.

 **THANK YOU, FRISK! DID YOU SEE THE EXTRA BLOOD I DREW AROUND HIS MOUTHPIECE? I WAS GOING FOR HYPER REALISM THERE!**

* * *

"Welcome, brave adventurers!" The Dentist smiles haughtily, teeth as white and glistening as his long coat, and holds his arms out above his glorious chamber from on high. "I assume you are here to make an attempt on the candy? Excellent! It has been a long time since someone has made it past my Administrative Guardian."

Undyne steps forward. "You stole Crustymas joy away from countless children… for what?! Why do you hate Crustymas so much?"

The Dentist leans forward and glowers down at the intruders. "Oh, it isn't the holiday itself, per se. It's what it causes. In the weeks following Crustymas, dental issues increase tenfold—cavities, root canals, gingivitis, you name it … Honestly, it gets so bad, you'd think peoples' morals decayed as much as their teeth did. But by replacing all of this … junk with healthy, sugarless substitutes, I have extracted the root of the problem." He shrugs. "Doesn't it all taste the same, anyway? What's wrong with a little artificial sweetener?"

"Uh, everything?" asserts Hotdoggins. "Take it from a guy who's around food on the reg'. That stuff's gross." He turns to Undyne. "Anyway, Fluoride Face here is nuts. I'd tell you to hit him but I got no clue how to reach him."

"And I would tell you I cannot hurt an innocent person, but this sorry excuse for a Dentist is far from that. I came here to kick his butt, so that is exactly what I am going to do." Without another word, Undyne rushes the mountain of candy the Dentist is perched atop and uses her incredible strength to try and haul herself up. But parts of the pile are unstable. Like bits of gravel, some of the smaller pieces give way underneath her, dragging her down to the base. She continues to climb, claw over claw, basically swimming against a current of candy! But it is too much. She slides to the bottom, exhausted. Frisk and Hotdoggins rush to her side.

"Nice try, Gym Rat." Again, the Dentist laughs and shakes his head. "But if you think I'm going to let you or the kid or the grease stain get anywhere near this perfect smile of mine, you are horribly mistaken." He snaps a finger. An odd, scratching noise echoes around the chamber. "It's been a while since I've had some entertainment, so I'll let you in on a little secret before I thoroughly clean your teeth. Because I'm a Dentist, I can control every piece of floss in a short radius. Be it one strand or many, it does whatever I bid! Like steal candy, for example. Or…" Suddenly, all the strands of floss from the torture rooms in the hall slither and twist their into the throne room. They snap together, one after the other, and line themselves up vertically to form a razor sharp wall between our intrepid adventurers and the candy they so desperately seek. "If you can get through my flossfield," the Dentist challenges, "I promise to numb you before I bring out the drill."

Undyne cracks her knuckles. "Well, if it is a wall, it can be broken." She grasps a bundle of the floss in her powerful hands and pulls! The strands bend this way and that. Some rip free, but are replaced by floss anew! The more Undyne tries, the more pieces of floss that appear!

The Dentist mockingly calls down to her, "Did you know the average roll of floss is 200 yards long? Combine that with the hundreds of boxes of it found in a typical dental clinic, and you have a near endless supply."

Eventually, Undyne's paws drop to her side. They are red and raw with exertion. "My strength … it isn't enough."

"Don't worry. I got this."

"Hotdoggins?"

* * *

 ***i do a cartwheel—**

 **NOW?!**

 ***—but with a little help this time. gonna need two of those dice, bro: one for tori.**

* * *

"Undyne, can you gimme a boost?"

"O-oh! Of course!" It takes all of her remaining strength, and both of her arms, to get a good enough grip on the Mascot's cumbersome cotton. She spins once, twice! Then, she gives a mighty heave! Phase one: Success!

But phase two? Well, if Hotdoggins couldn't land a cartwheel while on the ground, he certainly couldn't land one from mid-air! It is an absolute failure, just like his last two attempts. However! The momentum from Undyne's powerful launch puts a unique spin on things—literally! What he lacks in grace, Hotdoggins makes up for in propulsion! He has become a one-man wrecking ball rolling towards the flossfield at startling speeds!

The impact is enough to bend a section of the wall inward—but only just. Hotdoggins barely has a chance to recover when stray pieces of floss immediately set upon him. If but one can make a mouth bleed for hours, then dozens of them in a coordinated attack are a true slicing force to be reckoned with!

"Hotdoggins!" Frisk cries.

Fortunately for the greasiest of the three adventurers, his armor takes the brunt of the assault. He is unharmed. Unfortunately, he is also down to his skivvies! Oh, his poor costume, his inconvenient pride and joy, once hand-sewn from only the rarest of fabrics—it's been torn to smithereens!

There go the buns, flung to the far ends of the room.

The fake lettuce: lathed!

* * *

 *** wait, lettuce?**

* * *

The cheese: chopped!

* * *

 ***hey, uh, papyrus?**

* * *

The Janitor who comes in after hours will be picking sequined sesame seeds out of the carpet for weeks!

* * *

 *** yo, underground to papyrus.**

 **WHAAAT.**

 ***why does my guy sound more like a burger than a hotdog?**

 **BECAUSE HE IS A BURGER.**

 *** he is?**

 **YES.**

 *** he's been a burger this whole time.**

 **UH, DUH?**

 *** even though his name's hotdoggins.**

 **HE WAS ADOPTED! IT'S RIGHT THERE ON YOUR CHARACTER SHEET.**

 *** oh.**

 **…. YOU DIDN'T READ THE FINE PRINT LIKE I TOLD YOU TO, DID YOU?**

 *** whoops.**

 **OH MY GOD SANS. WELL, SURPRISE, I GUESS?**

 *** adopted, huh? interesting…**

 **WAIT, SANS?! WHERE ARE YOU GOING?**

 *** to help save crustymas the only way hotdoggins knows how.**

* * *

From within the sad shreds of his former glory, Hotdoggins stands. "Undyne," he says. "You were right."

"What do you mean?"

"When we first met, you said if I convinced myself I was cursed, it would hold me back from making progress. And you know what? That's exactly what happened. I thought, even though I'm a Hotdoggins in a family of 'burgs, I was just as cursed as they were. But not anymore. I'm done making excuses." He glares up at the impenetrable wall of tooth cleaner-y. "Hey, Fluoride Face, there's something I wanna ask you."

"What now, grease stain?"

"What's a dentist's favorite time of day?"

The Dentist draws back in his chair at the odd question. "Nine to five? It's when we enjoy the screams of the innocent. "

Hotdoggins smirks. "Nah. I was thinking more… tooth-hurty." He braces himself for the pain to come. It doesn't. He squares his shoulders, his growing confidence now doubled as his joke coaxes a chuckle from the Dentist. He then asks, "What's a musician use to brush his teeth?"

"Why, a toothbrush, I would hope."

"A tuba toothpaste!" That one catches the Dentist by surprise. He thinks the response over a second, and then it hits him. His chuckle becomes a full-blown laugh. The wall of floss wavers slightly. Hotdoggins' smile grows even more. Still, he feels no pain. He tries again! "Why did the doughnut go to the dentist? He needed a filling!"

On and on it goes. Hotdoggins fires zinger after zinger, all completely pain free. It is as if the curse … cannot reach him! Soon, the dentist is clasping at his gut, tears streaming down his face, utterly consumed with laughter! With his concentration broken he is unable to keep his flossfield standing. It wilts, piece by piece.

* * *

 _*Are you ready, Frisk?_

*For what?

 _*I have an idea, but I will need your help. Papyrus, may I see two dice, please?_

* * *

Undyne looks to Frisk. They give her a thumbs-up. With Hotdoggins' rapid-fire jokes returning the strength to her muscles, Undyne lifts Frisk into her arms and swings! Whoosh! The Average Student is much more airy-dynamical than a round-y Mascot. They sail through the air, far above the shrinking the flossfield.

"Now, Frisk!" Undyne shouts. "Give him a taste of his own medicine!"

They pull their treasured jawbreaker from their pocket. In this moment, they know it is all or nothing. Undyne's aim might be true—her Accuracy-ness is off the charts!—but is Frisk's? They are so very, very Average. Will that one week they didn't sit out during volleyball in gym class be enough?!

Frisk smacks right in to the distracted Dentist and drops their candy down his gaping mouth! The Dentist's laughter becomes a painful shriek. He puts up mighty struggle, thrashing this way and that! It is enough to shake the foundation of his sugary stacks. The mountain gives way! Down go Frisk and the Dentist in a cacophony of candy!

When the dust settles, the entire room is covered in a thick layer of sweets and dental floss.

"You alright, kiddo?" Undyne and Hotdoggins wade their way over and sift frantically through gumballs and rock candies alike until Undyne pulls Frisk free from the sugary depths. It takes a good pull, too, for clinging on to Frisk is none other than the Dentist. Undyne promptly wrenches Frisk away as the Dentist sits up fully.

"Unhand the child, you dental school drop-out," she cries.

Despite the harrowing fall and hurl of insults towards his pedigree, the Dentist seems no worse for wear. In fact, he's smiling! It's an honest, genuine smile—not that gross, smarmy thing he was doing earlier.

"What in the world is this?" he said, his voice muffled and spitty thanks to the jawbreaker couched in his cheek.

"It's a jawbreaker." Frisk said from within the crook of Undyne's overprotective arm. The Dentist swished the candy about.

"Not a fan of the name—but the taste! This is real sugar isn't it?"

"See?" said the underwear-ified Hotdoggins. "Much better than that artificial crap, huh?"

Undyne hugged Frisk tighter, still glaring daggers at the trio's adversary. "You had better appreciate that. It was a gift from Frisk's mother."

The Dentist's eyes widen, and he looks to the Average Student. "It's true," they say. "And it could also be true of a lot of the candy you stole. Even if its store-bought, it might be a gift for somebody else."

"But no matter where the candy came from or what kind it is," says Undyne. "There is love in it—and while I am no Dentist, I think we can forgive a few tooth problems if they are caused by that."

"Love," the Dentist mutters. "Love. It's … love?" The strands of floss strewn about the room begin to rise once more. But it is not in attack—no! Like skinny little soldiers, each one bundles itself tightly around gobs of candy and carries them out into the world, back to where they belong. Thanks to the Dentist's power, it will only take but a few short hours for every single piece to find its way home. (Not sure how he remembers where it all came from. But still! A Crustymas with mixed-up candy is better than a Crustymas with no candy at all.) The last few strands of floss then pick up the Dentist himself. He watches our adventurers for a moment, tears visible in his eyes, and then says,

"Thank you. I don't fully understand it, but I feel like I was somehow wrong about this."

"Yeah, workin' overtime'll do that," said Hotdoggins. "Go take a break."

And with that, the floss carries the Dentist away.

By the time the party leaves the lair of the former Anti-Claus, it is the dead of night—yet the village is wide awake! Crustymas music rings out from every street and alleyway. Frisk, Undyne Hotdoggins … they have not only solved the candy crises, they have also reignited the Crustymas spirit within the cold heart of a lost, tooth-obsessed soul. All across the Surface, they are hailed as heroes.

Congratulations, brave adventurers! May all your Crustymases be candy-full—and cavity-free!


	5. All's Well That Ends Well

**All's Well that Ends Well**

"The end!" With a satisfied grin, Papyrus closed his trifold and regarded his friends across the table. "Well, that certainly … went in a few directions. But you did it! You saved Crustymas."

"Yeah, good job, team." Sans materialized from the kitchen with a fresh bag of Popato Chisps in tow and flopped back down on the couch. "Now all the humans love us."

Toriel giggled. "I do not know if we can say that just yet. That would be quite the Crustymas miracle. Er, or would it be a Gyftmas miracle?"

"Miracle all the same," came the salty, chippy response. Papyrus huffed.

"I still can't believe you got up and played out the rest of the boss fight by yelling from the kitchen."

"I broke free of the curse, bro."

"I would've stopped kicking you if you just said something!"

"I broke free of the curse _and_ was hungry, bro."

Frisk laughed. "You did a great job as the narrator, Papyrus. It was like I was actually there."

"Why, thank you! I hope my rendition of the Surface was as true to life as it could be!" He paused. "Wait. My masterful storytelling didn't make you homesick, did it? You aren't going to try to leave us, are you?!"

"What? No way. When it comes to the Surface, I prefer your version—one-hundred-percent."

Relieved, Papyrus sat back in his seat. "That's good. Although, the way things worked out … it was kind of different from how I had planned it…"

"But ain't that the fun part, bro? When stuff happens in the game that not even the narrator expects?"

Toriel clapped her paws together. "And you improvised wonderfully! You certainly lived up to your title of, 'Weaver of the Threads of Fate'."

Faced with three encouraging smiles, Papyrus could do little else but giggle and fidget. "Oh, okay. I suppose it was totally awesome. In fact, I'd say it was even better than the original version. You know, in my first draft, the adventurers had to navigate their way though the Anti-Claus' deadly labyrinth, which was stalked by a terrifying Jani-Taur. Luckily, Hotdoggins carries those advertising fliers, you know, and Jani-Taurs are weak to recycling. And then…"

* * *

Outside the cozy abode, the once raging blizzard dwindled to a gentle snowfall. Toriel and Frisk helped the skeleton brothers clean up and then bid their fond farewells. They still had another Gyftmas Eve stop to make that evening. Their next visit was in Waterfall, where the real Undyne had planned a short Gyftmas piano recital with holiday snacks.

"I can hardly wait to tell her about that game," Toriel twittered as she and Frisk stepped out into the chill Snowdin air. "She simply must play it sometime, especially for Papyrus' sake. But, my goodness, was being an Undyne exhausting. I do not know how she does it." But when Frisk didn't respond right away, her excitement turned to worry. "Is something the matter, my child?"

"No, not really." Frisk stopped on the bottom step of the porch and looked back at the house. "It's just … I didn't want to say anything to Papyrus, but the Surface isn't actually like that. Not entirely, I mean. There are students and dentists and stuff, but …"

With a gentle chuckle, Toriel knelt down to adjust their hat and straighten their scarf. "Of course, my child. Do not worry. I know that game was nothing more than a fun little … twist on reality. I will also bet snails to spiders both Sans, and even Papyrus, know that as well." Her ears perked up at the sound of two familiar voices, muffled behind warm wooden walls. "But just listen to those two."

"Hey, so, I'm thinkin', when we go rescue Sir. Fibulot from the DMV, I'm gonna use Hotdoggins. You can … what was the word… retcon him in, right?"

"Of course! As the narrator, I can do just about anything! You liked him that much?"

"Dude is so many levels of awesome. Plus, I think he'd have the advantage there. The place seemed pretty dry."

"For good reason. I will not stop you from going the Hotdoggins route, Sans, but I will warn you: The Government Clerk class—which includes DMV and Post Office Clerks—is immune to all forms of humor. Not even Hotdoggins can make those people laugh."

"Won't know unless we try."

Now Frisk was smiling once again. Toriel took their hand. "Alright, come along. Someone was kind enough to wait for us, so we should not dawdle much longer. Then, it will be a certain someone else's bedtime, and I expect them to brush their teeth until they shine." She winked. "Unless, of course, they want a visit from the Anti-Claus!"

"And let him take those cookies you made? Not a chance!"


End file.
